


Where There's Smoke, There's Deep-Seated Emotional Trauma

by nonbinarycoded



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: everyone who was in the scanlan leaving scene is in this fic, inspired by posts linked in the author's note, the characters tagged are the only ones with major/important speaking roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinarycoded/pseuds/nonbinarycoded
Summary: A retelling of Scanlan's departure from Percy's point of view— and all of the anger and smoke that comes with that.





	Where There's Smoke, There's Deep-Seated Emotional Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was actually inspired by a couple of posts made by the lovely [percyvex](http://percyvex.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! [The tags on this post](http://percyvex.tumblr.com/post/160968033953/me-im-glad-percys-in-a-better-place-emotionally%20) and [this entire post](http://percyvex.tumblr.com/post/160968418833/canon-percy-starts-smoking-when-hes-upset-or) were both _massive_ inspirations for me, and I'd like to give a huge thank you to her for letting me write this fic. I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Also, obligatory disclaimer, this is a fic from the point of view of _Percy,_ not me. Percy is rash and quick to judge and steadfast in his opinions, even when those opinions are mean-spirited or selfish. This fic reflects that. I don't necessarily agree with what Percy's thinking/saying/doing, I was just interested in the way he stayed silent throughout most of this conversation and wanted to explore his take on everything that happened.

Percy had spent the better part of his childhood being trained to muffle emotion, to smother outbursts before they were even a thought. That was all ruined when… Well. Orthax hadn’t appreciated that particular talent of his.

After Orthax was gone, however, Percy put as much effort as he could into refining it once more. His several-years-long stint of letting himself be free with his anger and his outbursts had culminated in something he wasn’t keen to reproduce. And though Orthax was gone and there was no threat of dangerous consequences, Percy still sought comfort in making things easier on himself. Whether it be through making the situation around him lighter so he wouldn’t have overly strong emotions, or learning to extinguish those emotions before they grew to become problems, he did what he could.

So it came as somewhat of a rude awakening that Orthax hadn’t taken all of his… _gifts_ with him when he left. Percy had never enjoyed the smoke that rose from his skin when he was overwhelmingly angry, or overwhelmingly upset, or— well, overwhelmingly _anything,_ really. Any strong emotions, even positive ones, would set it off, he’d found out (that had been an awkward night with Vex, once they'd both realized what was going on.) A large, obvious indicator to everyone around him that he was experiencing too much emotion was something he could entirely live without.

So he made sure to quell strong emotions every chance he got. 

* * *

 

Standing in a spare bedroom in Whitestone Castle, Percy hadn’t been this angry in a very long time. His friends had been excited— ecstatic even— to check on Scanlan and wake him up. And this was how he was going to act? By throwing a fit and screaming at them, for what? For _saving his life?_ For exposing his daughter to the harsher realities this world had to offer? It was a terrible thought, he knew it as he was thinking it, but he had trouble finding sympathy for someone who’d lost a single member of their family which had the good fortune to be promptly resurrected.

Percy stood there, and he listened to Scanlan, and he decided he really didn't like where this conversation was headed at all. He found himself hardly listening, more caught up in his own thoughts than what was being said.

Was Scanlan really going to go on about appearing weak for dying while fighting an ancient fucking dragon? Is that what he thought of the rest of them when they died, that they were weak? Is that what he thought of Percy when he fell to Ripley’s hand? _Weakness?_ Percy’s anger welled up inside him quietly, so he tried to stomp down the embers by focusing on what he could sympathize with. Stop the outbursts before they were even a thought.

And then Scanlan said something that managed to strike a single chord with Percy. Scanlan had made a promise, an oath to his daughter, that he wouldn’t die. Of course he was upset he broke a promise. Were Percy in the same situation, he’d be upset too—

Of course, _Percy_ would have the good sense not to make promises he couldn’t keep, especially not promises about life and death—

“I wish you hadn’t meddled in my affairs. I don’t have many things I care about, and I don’t have _anything_ that cares about me.”

_Oh._

_Well then._

_Sure,_ Percy thought, _we just dropped a diamond larger around than my fucking fist trying to raise you back from the dead because we couldn’t imagine life without you, but of course! Nobody cares about poor Scanlan Shorthalt! Especially not the daughter you care about more than life itself!_

Percy was so caught up in his thoughts that much of what the room said after that was lost to him, and that was almost for the better. It would have been better still if he hadn’t tuned back into the room just as Scanlan said, “We traveled to the fucking Nine Hells to get Pike a suit of armor! We went and batted a city of vampires so Percy could feel good about his name! We fought Goliaths for Grog! We’ve traveled across planes of existence so you could fix your _fucking daddy issues!_ But you’ve _never_ done anything for me! _EVER!”_

Wrath gripped Percy’s chest and throat, burning as it blocked air from his lungs. So _that’s_ what Scanlan thought of everything they’d done? He didn’t see this all as helping his friends out of sincere compassion, a desire to help those he cared about— _Oh, but he doesn’t have many things he cares about, remember—_ but as a score to be kept equal? Did he even see Vox Machina as friends at all, or just a system of favors that took too long to pay off?

No. No. He would not allow himself to be this angry. He could keep himself calm throughout this. He could control himself.

“You’ve never _risked_ anything, you don’t know me, you don’t know _anything_ about me—” Scanlan’s face hardened, and he met each of their eyes. “What’s my mother’s name?” An uncomfortable silence stretched through the room. “What’s her name? _Easy_ question. Died in front of me. Killed by a goblin. Biggest part of my life! _What’s her name?”_

The questions didn’t stop.

“My father, is he alive or dead? 

“How old am I?

“Where’s my fucking dog?”

The silence grew uncomfortable, and Percy for one did not appreciate the shame bubbling in his gut, anger vying to overtake it. A quiet, bitter part of his mind couldn’t help but think that this was by far the most information he’d ever learned about Scanlan’s life, and it was coming in the form of questions he was already meant to know the answers to.

“You don’t care about me.”

 _Well how the hell were we_ meant _to care, when apparently the you we knew wasn’t the you that you wanted us to know?_

Percy tried to pay attention after that. He really did. It was just so hard to pay attention to something so _annoying_. He wouldn’t want to pay attention until he got angry, and Percy was still trying very hard not to get angry.

Scanlan tried to brush things off like he always did. Percy was sure he said something else flagrantly dismissive of the rest of the party. From the passive attention Percy was paying it sounded like Scanlan had the gall to be upset that after distancing himself, nobody was as close with him as they were with each other. Percy thought he heard Scanlan blame the group for his shitty relationship with Kaylie, and that’s when Percy tuned out entirely. He was not going to allow himself to be infuriated by _Scanlan_ of all people.

Everyone took turns asking him things, demanding things of him, lecturing him. Everybody except for Percy, who remained entirely silent through it all, and Pike. Pike had been so quiet he’d nearly forgotten she was there, standing at Grog’s side, one hand clenching and unclenching her grasp on his pants— she’d almost torn another hole in them at this point. A confused, betrayed silence coming from her spoke more than words could. Percy recognized when others were talking, and he was present enough to register who was talking and what tone of voice they were using, but he couldn’t have repeated any of it if he’d tried.

What did finally snap him out of his stupor was Vex’ahlia sounding _furious_. He decided to examine why that gets his attention so quickly later.

“Don’t treat her like a fucking sacred object, treat her like a _daughter_ , Scanlan.”

Scanlan shut down and agreed with her automatically and the thought pressed at the back of Percy’s mind that he hadn’t really heard Vex at all. He’d be worried Scanlan would stop following that advice, except he couldn’t stop following advice he had no intention of beginning to follow in the first place.

And then Scanlan seemed to think for the first time since he’d woken up.

“...Listen. I don’t know what adventure we’re going on next, but I think you should go without me.”

There was a beat, then another beat, then Grog and Vax both stepped forward with the same incredulous expression on their face. “Really?” Percy wasn’t sure which one of them had said it, but from their expressions, it had probably been both of them.

“Vex is right. I should talk to her, I should be here for her. I don’t know why I wasn’t with her in the first place. I didn’t need to go with you to kill the dragons!”

 _What?_ Scanlan couldn’t possibly be fucking serious, could he? The world had been ending, and he was one of the only people skilled enough to even _attempt_ to stop it, and he thought it would have been more appropriate to walk away? He thought the rest of Vox Machina would have let that slide? He thought _Kaylie_ would have let that slide?

“I should have just been with her in the first place. ...I was probably just scared to. I should just be her father. And _stay_.”

Silence threatened to loom again, but before it could Grog’s voice rose from the back of the group. “Can I ask you a question?

“...Yeah.” And before Percy even had the time to think that this had the potential to end on a good note after all, Scanlan continued with, “No, Grog, I will not go whoring with you one more time.”

_How fucking dare he?_

Percy’s jaw clenched as he worked over that question in his head— _How fucking_ dare _he presume to know what Grog was going to ask, after admitting everything he’s said here? How dare he presume to know these people so well that he could predict_ anything _when he’d_ admitted _to not giving a damn about them? How fucking dare he?_

“No. I was gonna ask you what your mother’s name is.”

At least Scanlan had the fucking decency to look ashamed when he’d processed the question. Of course, Grog looked _genuinely remorseful,_ an emotion people tended to feel when they hurt someone they _truly cared about_ , but who was Percy to judge?

“...It was Juniper.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know that.”

Vex joined in next. “Is your father still alive?

“I don’t really know.” Percy bit his tongue to keep from shouting, but how the _hell_ were any of them meant to know the answer to that question when he didn’t know it himself? _Really_ , Percy thought, _that’s the perfect way to illustrate all this— Scanlan asking us questions he doesn’t know the answer to, and then being upset when we can’t answer them from the_ abundant _information he’s given us about his own life—_ “He makes things. Made things? I don’t know. His name is Vicool.”

Grog kept talking after that, then Keyleth. He thought Vex and Vax pitched in at some point. Something about an apology. Percy couldn’t bring himself to care enough to listen. It wasn’t like he was about to fucking apologize for this mess. He fixed his stare on the foot of the bed, simmering quietly, feeling anger balloon into fury and trying to decide whether or not he even cared enough to stop it.

And that’s when he felt it.

A tickling sensation at the back of his neck, a burn rising up his throat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a thin tendril of black smoke curl out of his collar, and clamped his teeth down tightly shut to try to stop the smoke from escaping his mouth.

_Do you really want to stop it?_

And then there was _that_ part of him— the part that whispered in his ear to just let go, to let himself be angry, act rashly, hurt people. Sometimes, it had Orthax’s voice. Sometimes it had his own.

Percy wasn’t sure which scared him more. He did know, however, that he was far more likely to pay it any heed at all when it was his own voice, his own thoughts nudging him, encouraging him to let down the barriers just once, just briefly, just to make sure he still _could_ —

On some level, he knew that that was wrong. He knew that of  _course_ he shouldn’t let things go, of _course_ he should control his anger, of _course_ things were already too far gone if he had to stifle coughs and take deeper breaths to avoid choking on the smoke gathering behind his teeth. That side of him was the one that registered Vax’s voice being close to tears and dragged Percy’s focus back to the conversation at hand.

“ _Scanlan…_ ” It was like Percy could see the spiderweb of cracks in Vax’s voice.

“Just give me some time.”

“...Hey- hey guys?” Percy’s gaze snapped over to Keyleth. She looked _terrified_ , and that only stoked Percy’s rage more. “We’re friends, right? Are we friends?”

Before Percy could stop himself, before he could remind himself of the smoke, of the consequences of opening his mouth right then— _none of that mattered more than comforting Keyleth, anyways—_ he spoke. “Worse. We’re family.” Smoke escaped his lips and rose in front of his face as he said it. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but he thought he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him as the smoke escaped.

Keyleth laughed, the high, desperate laugh she always had when she was beyond scared and trying not to show it. The one that sounded like it could turn to tears at any moment. “That’s fair.”

Percy watched that single bubble of smoke rise to the ceiling as more burned the back of his throat, watched Keyleth’s anxious face try hopelessly to settle on an emotion that wasn’t fear or guilt, watched his own hands shaking with barely-restrained rage, and a single thought formed in his mind.

 _Fuck it_.

“And for fuck’s sake, sir, I will say I died in that fight too.”

“It’s not fun, is it?” Scanlan asked, as though he thought he’d found a single bridge he hadn’t just torched.

“ _No._ And let me tell you something. Whatever _lie_ you were trying to feed your daughter out there, about the man she thought you might be, that you just thought you could tell her, and then she would walk away and never actually _meet_ you or get to know you— So that maybe she could see what a _shit_ you could be— And you can be a _shit—_ ”

Percy was rambling. He knew he was rambling, and he needed a moment to get his thoughts back on track. He let himself take one deep breath, a long inhale and a longer exhale that sent a new plume of thick smoke cascading upwards.

“That _fucking girl_ out there is a  _shit_ too. She’s a _miserable, lying, shit._ And for fuck’s sake, the thing that brought her back here was the things about you that you don’t like about yourself, and don’t think that they don’t count either! You’re a shitty person! We _know!_ That’s not the fucking _point!_ The point is for just one moment, _one_ moment, once in a blue bloody moon—” Another sigh, this time one he didn’t have to think about, but one that sent smoke billowing forwards towards Scanlan anyways, “—You come through in a way others can’t. And you do it, and we _love_ you for it and you are _worthwhile_ , there’s a _reason_ we just—”

How could Percy even describe what they’d just done? What they’d just been through for him? “—Nearly went _mad_ trying to bring you back.” Good enough. “And it was not _pity!_ And we didn’t bring her— We brought her here so that _maybe_ she could snap you out of wherever the fuck you were going to!"

Scanlan didn't try to defend himself, didn't try to defend his actions. He didn't even try to say anything. For some reason, that infuriated Percy even more. “And I know you’re not out of there yet, and I’ve _been_ where you are, and I know it’s shit. And I would _really_ recommend, as someone who misses an _awful_ lot of people, that you are _honest_ with that girl. And maybe discover that she actually _likes. YOU._ As a _person_. Because you’re _actually likable as a person_ —” The smoke was coming faster now, and in greater volume; some of it was beginning to gather at the top of the room the way smoke ought to, but most of it was sticking to itself, and then to him, obscuring his clothes, his form, and very nearly his vision. He really ought to acknowledge that before his friends ( _his friends and Scanlan, apparently_ ) began to worry.

“I _know,_ it’s coming out of my mouth, I can feel the shit from it, but it’s _true._ For _fuck’s_ sake. Get to know her, and stop making false promises that you can protect her, and you’ll always be there. Cause you _can’t_ and you _won’t!_ No one can, and you’re _FUCKING_ _lying_. And it’s sick. Be a man. Be a _man—_ I’ve _seen_ you be a man so I know you can fucking do it. And when you’re _done_ with that, and we will _leave_ you with that fucking shit girl, I would like you to look up my parent’s name. You can find it on every _fifth hallway_ in this _fucking city_.” _Because I actually make what I want known, known_ , Percy finished in his head as he stormed from the room.

And _stormed_ really was the correct word; a nimbus of thick, black smoke followed him, sticking closely to his form and moving in a way smoke shouldn’t. He almost tripped over Kaylie on his way out; luckily, his rage wasn’t so overwhelming that he couldn’t recognize he ought to feel sorry for this poor girl and the lot she’d drawn in life. He thought he saw her eyes widen just slightly at the sight of the smoke, but that might have been her shock at being so suddenly caught weeping. Percy outstretched his arms before he knew what he was doing, but wasn’t surprise to have them smacked away from her. He wouldn’t want a hug were he in her situation, either.

When she pushed herself away from the wall and turned to walk inside the room, Percy continued on his way. There was no point in staying to listen to the aftermath, and he needed a place he could let his anger out. Now that he was away from Kaylie, he could feel the smoke beginning to pour forth one more. 

* * *

 

 _"_ _U_ _NBELIEVABLE!”_ Percy threw the doors of Cassandra’s study wide and stormed in. “Absolutely fucking _appalling!_ That he had the nerve to say all of that— That he had the nerve to _believe_ it—”

Cassandra hardly had time to process that someone was in her study before much of the study was being enveloped in the roiling mass of smog that flooded from nearly every inch of Percy’s being. “ _Brother—”_

“Yes, I fucking know about it, it’s not what you think, just let me be angry for a moment—” Percy snapped, “—Just let me be _angry_ for _one moment, please—”_

Some part of Percy knew that the pleading second half of that sentence hadn’t truly been directed at Cassandra.

A larger part of Percy was too preoccupied to care.

He could hardly see around the smoke which poured from behind his glasses, from out of his mouth leaving a residue like burnt rot. That taste had haunted his nightmares for months. It came from below his collar, seeped out of every gap where cloth did not quite meet flesh, and seemed to coalesce into something that could have been almost sentient, once. It did not expand to fill the room as gasses are wont to do, but instead seemed to stick close to Percy where it could and then build upon itself, creating an inky black pacing specter.

Cassandra thought that this was getting a bit fucking out of hand.

She stood and reached into the smog, grabbing Percy’s shoulder and stopping him in his tracks. _“Brother.”_

Percy froze. His chest heaved; the smoke was leaving his breathing ragged. Each breath burned with bile, with anger, with the need to scream and move and _fight_.

He wasn’t sure how much of that was left over from Orthax, and how much of that was simply how he was dealing with this. The realization unnerved him.

“Percival, you are going to _stop_ this at once and have a _civil discussion_ with me if you so badly wish to throw your anger in others’ faces.”

The tirade of thoughts was immediate, each clamoring over the others in an effort to be said. _That’s what you think of this, throwing it in your face? I’m allowing myself to show any kind of emotion and you’re going to stop it like this? Don’t you think this is the reason I never emote, never show anger? I’m sorry you’re upset that I figured out how to express anger before you did but perhaps if you would let go once in a while—_

What Percy actually said was this: “...You couldn’t sound more like mother if you tried.”

Cassandra allowed herself just one brief moment to look disgusted, and that moment was all it took for the smoke to taper off. Percy laughed, quiet and low in his throat, and Cassandra smirked up at him, by far more amused with the laughing than what had elicited it.

“Are you quite done now?” she asked, glancing up at the smoke that was beginning to lose a coherent form and swirl towards the ceiling.

“Yes, I think— I think I’m done. ...I apologize for handling it like that. That was rude of me.” _Rude_ was an understatement, a truly massive one, and he knew that. It would have been _rude_ of him to interrupt her work by knocking, and to ask for even a minute of her time so she could listen to his trouble. This had been obscene, and even that was still perhaps understating it.

Cassandra hummed, then looked him up and down. “Well, at least you’re apologizing at all. Here’s what you’re going to do,” she said in a tone that left no room for argument. “You’re going to open a window. This smoke can’t be good for the books in here, and I refuse to hand over the documents I’m working on to anyone if they smell like you do currently. Which brings me to two— You’re going to _bathe_. Not necessarily as soon as you leave this room but you will _not_ be seeing me until you do. This smells _awful_ , Percival.” A humorless laugh left Percy’s mouth; it had reached a point where he could hardly smell it anymore, too desensitized to notice. The taste hadn’t gone away, and wouldn’t for quite some time, but the smell was easy to get used to.

“Three.” Cassandra’s voice softened just slightly, and she looked Percy dead in the eyes as she said, “Go back to your friends.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s still nice to hear you apologizing for all this, but you heard me. I don’t know what it is you came in here fuming about, but I know that your friends either had something to do with causing it or will have something to do with fixing it. Perhaps both. In either case I’m not sure why I was your first choice to come to, but go _back to them_. They can help you far better than I could.”

“No, you— You’ve helped quite a bit. Really.”

“I’m sure I have. Really, though, Percival. The smoke has cleared. Go back to your friends. ...Though to be perfectly honest I’m starting to wonder if I should just start referring to them as an extension of our own family.”

When she pointed it out, Percy looked around him; the smoke really had cleared. It had all drifted to the top of the room and made its way into the crevices between books and behind shelves. He’d still feel smoke in the back of his throat for some time, but as far as anyone else was concerned, he was free of it now. And that was what counted.

“They certainly are a family, although I’m not sure that I’m quite ready to say they’re part of ours. Family of the de Rolos is a rather dangerous position to hold.”

“No more dangerous than what you eight get into at least four times a week.”

“Fair, fair. ...Thank you, sister.”

“Yes, you’re welcome, now get back to them.”

Percy sighed, turned, and left the room.

“ _And don’t forget you agreed to open a—"_...Cassandra sighed. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered to try reminding him of that. As the study door closed behind Percy, she crossed the room to open a window and begin waving at the smoke.

* * *

 

 The walk from Cassandra’s study to the room they’d kept Scanlan in was not a short one, and yet Percy found himself tarrying anyways. He turned the corner into that hallway, and suddenly found himself unable to continue. He had no idea what had happened in his absence. Was Scanlan still in that room? Had he left like he’d intended? Where was Kaylie? Was  _anyone_ still in that room?

He got his answer quickly, at least, when Grog left the room. He couldn’t quite say he was expecting Grog to want to see him, but he didn’t walk away when he saw Grog start walking towards him with an obvious purpose in mind.

“Hey.”

“...Hi."

Grog, for once in his life, looked _contemplative_. “Rough one, that. Question.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any, like, sneaky people in your employ here at the castle?”

Well then. Of all the people Percy would expect to have a plan like this, Grog was somewhere comfortably at the bottom of the list. “Of course.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better if we had someone just keeping an eye on them?” Percy stayed silent for a long moment, studying Grog’s face. “Bit explosive, the two of them together,” Grog said, prompting Percy to answer him.

Percy couldn’t bring himself to. Grog had a point, of course he had a point. Those two were unpredictable at their absolute best, and Percy couldn’t fathom what sort of danger they’d attract alone. Were they entitled to their privacy? Well, perhaps, but Percy had trouble giving a shit about that at the moment.

Eventually, he found his voice. “...I’m torn. I don’t know if he’d like that.”

“I don’t know if I care,” Grog said with a chuckle. He always had been good at vocalizing the thoughts Percy tried to keep quiet.

“I don’t know if I do, either.” Percy stopped looking at Grog, and instead focused on a point somewhere over his shoulder. He made sure to keep his voice carefully measured, conversational even, when he said, “...I keep thinking, I could just shout right now, and half a dozen guards would stop them.” Percy held all the power here. He could stop them if he chose to. He could simply decide he knew better than Scanlan— that he and all of his friends knew better than Scanlan— and bring them both back here.

“Yeah. That’d be a half a dozen dead guards, though.”

Percy sighed. “Oh, what’s half a dozen dead guards these days.”

“Good point.”

Percy wanted to keep talking about Scanlan. He wanted to keep talking about what had just happened to him. Instead, he locked eyes with Grog and heard Cassandra’s voice in his ears.

_To be perfectly honest I’m starting to wonder if I should just start referring to them as an extension of our own family._

“There’s tale of a brothel on the West end of Whitestone. I don’t know if it still exists, but I’m sure if you go drinking in that area you might find something.” Why the _hell_ had he just said that? He knew Grog needed comfort, but— “...I’m sorry.”

“No, yeah, yeah. I, uh. I’ll go give it a look.”

“When you’re in the mood.”

“Now’s good.” Grog’s reply was almost faster than immediate.

That was the first thing to happen all afternoon that had elicited a genuine laugh from Percy. Percy could only be grateful that it had come at something marginally appropriate for him to laugh at.

The contemplative, careful look was gone from Grog’s face, replaced with an expression that just looked _sad_. Not anguished, or desperate, or sullen. Just… sad. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll be back after nightfall. I’m gonna go out for a bit.” Seeing Grog so sad hurt, much in the same way it hurt seeing Keyleth in distress. Much in the same way that hearing Vex righteously furious could grab and hold his attention in an instant.

“Grog—” Percy blurted, then cursed himself for saying anything. He had half a sentence, hardly an idea in his mind, and not one he particularly wanted to share, but he was stuck sharing it now.

“Yeah?”

“I know we don’t always agree, and I know I can be unkind, but… you know you’re family, right?” Percy heard the way his voice wavered, just slightly, when he asked his question, and hated himself for it. This had been a stupid question, it was stupid of him to want reassurance after something as simple as someone leaving— Percy was supposed to be fine with people leaving, he was supposed to be fine with _anything,_ he was meant to be unshakable, not turning for reassurance from his friends the first time someone tossed a mean word his way—

“I don’t know much, but I do know that.”

Well, that was a relief. “...It’s nice having an older brother again.” A slow, tentative smile made its way onto Percy’s face, and after a moment Grog mirrored it with a massive grin. The moment was nice, but Percy was immensely grateful Grog didn’t say anything as he walked away. That quiet admittance was likely going to haunt Percy for weeks, as he went back and forth in his head trying to decide whether or not he should have said it.

But, he supposed, if there was one lesson he was meant to take away from all this, it was that he really should be more open with the way he felt about his friends. After all, he could only hope they’d do the same for him.


End file.
